Coming Out of the Box
by RussianWolf7
Summary: A short little fluffy proposal fic with just a dash of drama in the midst. Drarry!


**A/N:** It's publishing day, guys! Isn't that exciting? I miss publishing days. This is a fluffy little one-shot proposal ficlet for the wonderful **MirrorFlower and DarkWind**, who wrote the 500th review for Ostriches. That's about it; very tame, very fluffy, just adorable the whole way through :)

As always, **message me with any plot bunnies!** I accidentally have three medium-long stories going at once and so I'm not starting anything new until I finish at least two of them, but having a backlog of bunnies lying around makes me feel safe.

Lovelove!

**1**

Harry concentrated very hard. A single spot of carpet, designated by a silver snake, an Ouroboros. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, focusing on the snake, on how the dark green carpet would feel beneath his feet, on exactly where the snake was. Not on how small the space was. Not on how one step would result in a very nasty splice, not to mention at least a dozen curses thrown at him. Not on the people who would immediately show up and demand to know what Harry Potter was doing attempting to apparate into Draco Malfoy's bedroom at three in the morning.

Eyes still closed, he apparated. His feet landed firmly on the floor. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, checking his body for any signs of splicing or dark magic. Nothing.

"Harry, Merlin, you've been doing this for a year now. Sometimes I think you know that spot better than you know me."

Harry opened his eyes and stepped out of the circle. Draco was lounging on his bed in silver and green striped pajama bottoms and no shirt. A very nice sight to walk in on.

"If you'd just come out and _tell_ people, it wouldn't be necessary," Harry said for the hundredth time. He kicked his slippers off and climbed onto the bed, kissing his boyfriend. "Really, Dray, it's been two years since the war. You're an Auror. Your father is out of Azkaban and your mother wasn't ever jailed at all. Your name has been completely and utterly cleared. The Dark Mark is even gone. I don't understand why you insist on this secrecy."

"I'm not worried about the press, or my status as a reputable wizard," Draco replied, leaning in for another kiss. "It's my parents and your friends. We'd both be cursed into last week. Do you really think my father of all people is ready to admit I'm gay, let alone that I'm seeing Harry Potter? And that Weasley, he'll never forgive me."

"He would," Harry insisted. "Hermione too. They already know we work together and that we've been partnered since we joined the Ministry. Given that we haven't killed each other so far, they must know _something_ is going on."

"And my father?" Draco repeated. "What of him?"

"He knows we're partners," Harry said evasively. He couldn't imagine a positive reaction from Lucius Malfoy, no, but this was getting ridiculous.

"And that's how it will stay." Draco rolled on top of Harry and gave him a searing kiss. "Come on, I've been waiting for you for hours. Don't make me wait any longer."

**2**

"Potter," Draco said, striding into the glorified closet that was their office.

"Malfoy," Harry acknowledged. He glanced up for a second before returning to his paperwork. "Kingsley needs the report on the Grimstone case by lunch."

Draco grimaced. "Remind me again why you can't do it?"

Harry waved a folder in front of his face. "Because I've got this," he said angrily, "and that whole pile. Just for once, Malfoy, do your damned job and stop complaining about it."

Draco sighed dramatically. "_Fine_, Potter. No need to get pissy." He flipped through a stack of manila folders and pulled out the correct file. He paused. "Wait, lunch? Don't we have a lunch meeting with that bloke from Magical Creatures about a pixie invasion or something?"

"Yes," Harry said slowly, as if explaining something to a small child. "That's why it's got to be finished _before_ lunch."

Draco sighed again. "Fine."

The day was predictably boring, especially lunch (since when were pixies dark creatures anyway?), and halfway through Draco owled his parents to not expect him for dinner, as he was falling behind on paperwork. That left time for dinner and a quick shag at Grimmauld Place before he had to go home.

"We could have our own place, you know," Harry said, following Draco to the fireplace. "You could move in here. I know you like it, whatever you say. Ancestral home and all, complete with its own house elf."

"I'm not telling them," Draco said firmly.

"Just think about it, would you?" Harry said pleadingly. "We can start small, with Hermione. She likes you, almost. You certainly see her at work enough."

"Where we spend all our words arguing over house elves," Draco replied. "I am not in her good graces. I'm not in _anyone's_ good graces, except yours. We tell no one."

Harry grabbed his arm as he took a handful of Floo powder. "As an anniversary gift," he insisted. "One year next week."

"I know, I'm not daft," Draco snapped. "Now let go of me so I can get home before Mother gets suspicious."

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. "Fine. Go."

Draco stroked his cheek gently. "I love you."

Harry stepped away. "Yeah. Go."

The fire turned green and whooshed upwards. He felt a little guilty for not returning the sentiment, for making Draco feel guilty, but he was desperate to get out of this stupid cycle. He was _sure_ Hermione knew. Telling her would be so easy. A quick lunch in the Ministry cafeteria. Silencing charms around them so no one else would hear. A slip of the tongue, as if it was an accident. Then it would be done, and Draco would finally understand the world wouldn't end if they came out.

Harry stared angrily at the fireplace. He had half a mind to follow Draco to the Manor and just come out with it. And, if he wasn't absolutely certain Draco would never speak to him again, he would have done it.

Really.

Because he wasn't scared at all.

Especially not of Lucius Malfoy.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a flurry of owls that night.

**3**

It was Monday. Harry and Draco's anniversary was Friday.

Draco was not pleased to be having lunch with Hermione, but he had resigned himself to it under the stipulation that she would not say the words house elf once. It was known that he and Harry had become friends, and often took lunch together. Sometimes that involved Hermione. It was a part of life, a part he didn't like, but he knew from experience Harry's threats of cutting off sex were quite serious, and so he did it.

The three of them walked a few blocks to Draco's preferred café. It was small and quiet, which suited Harry and Hermione quite well. They chatted lightly, talking about the weather, comparing workloads, staying carefully away from any serious conversation, as they always did. They ordered, switching from paperwork to the upcoming Quidditch cup.

Just after their food arrived, Hermione said casually, "It's nice to see you two getting along so well. I know you've been partners for years, but I never would have expected it."

Draco tensed. "We have come to an agreement," he said tightly.

"Especially the past few weeks," Hermione continued. "You've been exceptionally friendly. If I didn't know any better, I'd say there was something exciting coming up for the two of you. Of course the Cup is around the corner, but there's something different."

"It's finally happened," Draco drawled. "You've gone completely mental."

"I dunno, Draco," Harry said lightly. "You did buy me lunch the other day."

"It's not _proper_ to split checks," he snapped. "I told you that at the time."

"But it's proper to take one's partner out to one of the finest restaurants in London for lunch?" Hermione asked. "If Skimmers ever offered, I daresay my eyes would pop out of my head. He's greasy cafeteria food all the way."

"Some of us have higher standards," Draco said snidely. "That is nothing to be ashamed of, nor a particularly new topic of conversation unless you're so mental you've forgotten I'm a Malfoy."

"No, I haven't," Hermione replied. She glanced at Harry, ever so slightly. "Are we still on for drinks Friday night?"

Draco gaped at her. "What do you mean, still on?" he asked. "We don't have plans for drinks."

"Yes we do," Harry said. "We made them last week, remember? Us and Ron and Hermione? Don't tell me you've forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten because we did _not_ make plans for Friday," Draco said angrily. "We're busy Friday."

Harry frowned at him. "We are? Is there a raid or something?"

Draco glared furiously at him. "Yes," he snapped. "The—er—Koppelbard case."

"Koppelbard?" Hermione asked. "Never heard of them. What've they done?"

"Brewing illegal potions," Draco said, significantly more calmly. "That's why we're on the case, Potter and I. Because I have experience with potions."

"Draco, you've got your dates mixed up again," Harry said with a humoring smile. "That's the Friday after next, remember? Their shipment of Tentacula leaves isn't coming in until late that Thursday, all the intel says so."

"I'm quite certain it's this week," Draco said, a muscle working as he clenched his teeth.

"No, Harry's right," Hermione said. "I remember now, Skimmers is going with you, in case they really do have a unicorn tied up in the basement. Definitely next week."

"Drinks it is, then," Harry said, ignoring the kick Draco gave him.

"No," Draco repeated. "I hate Weasley. I'm not drinking with him."

"But you had so much fun last time," Hermione said. "By the end of the night you had your arm over his shoulder and were singing sea shanties, Merlin knows why."

"I was _drunk_," Draco insisted. "It doesn't count if I'm drunk."

"Then get drunk," Harry said. "Come on, the four of us never get together. It'll be great."

Draco rubbed a hand over his face. "No."

Hermione looked at Harry again, and he nodded the tiniest bit.

"The thing you and Harry seem so excited about—that's happening Friday, isn't it?" Hermione asked.

"There is no such thing, I told you!"

Hermione eyed them. "You know, Harry, you've been acting the same way Ron does when it's coming up on our anniversary."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Really, I have? How strange."

"Very much so," Hermione replied. "The constant back and forth between nerves and excitement, the way your gaze lingers just longer than called for, how your fiery temper has suddenly dropped. It's eerie, really, how similar you are."

"Huh," Harry said. "I never would have noticed. Draco, is there any reason why I'd be acting in such a way?"

Draco didn't respond right away but when he did, it was explosive. "Alright, fine! For fucking Merlin's sake, yes! You two planned this, didn't you? Ambushing me at lunch? Harry, I can't believe you told Hermione when I _explicitly_ asked you not to. Whenever I do something you don't like it's lectures for weeks, but I'm supposed to just _forgive _you for blurting out that we've been seeing each other?"

"Draco, stop," Hermione said firmly. "Harry didn't tell me, I already knew. _Everyone _knows. I don't know why you bother hiding it. I think it's sweet, really."

Draco didn't respond to Hermione at all, didn't even look at her. His eyes were on Harry's, and suddenly Harry felt very, very bad about this. "I can't believe you did this," he repeated. His voice had dropped in volume, but Harry would have taken shouting over betrayal any day. "I ask you for one thing, and you can't even manage that." He let out a pent up breath. "Forget it. I'm leaving. See you at work, Potter."

Harry stared after him, then ran to catch up, promising Hermione he'd pay next time. "Draco, wait! Please, stop!"

Draco spun around. "Why? Why should I do anything other than walk away from you and never speak to you again?"

Harry grabbed his face and kissed him soundly, honestly forgetting they were only half a block away from the Ministry and there were sure to be other employees getting back from lunch right about now. "Because you love me," Harry said, pulling away. "Because you promised me forever."

Draco looked ready to hit him. Never mind about wands; his hands were balled into fists, and there was no way he could get his wand out like that. "First you tell Granger, and then you bloody _kiss me_ outside the _Ministry_?"

He also looked, Harry noticed, ready to cry. "Come on," Harry said softly, taking his hand. "We need to talk."

The crushing feeling of apparation, and then they were in Harry's room in Grimmauld Place. Draco yanked his hand away and stormed over to the window, crossing his arms and refusing to look at Harry.

"Draco, please," Harry implored. "You heard Hermione. She already knew. It's not news."

"It is!" Draco yelled back. "When the _Prophet_ gets ahold of a picture of the two of us kissing, it will quite literally be news! And you know who reads the bloody _Prophet_? My father. Every morning with breakfast."

"I wasn't thinking," Harry said softly. "I was just trying—"

"No, you weren't!" Draco interrupted. "You never bloody _think_. I hadn't forgotten what you said, about an anniversary gift. I was going to let you tell Granger and Weasley, provided they promised to keep it between them, even though I knew the entire Weasley family would know by that night. I was going to do that for you, because I _do_ love you, and I care about what you want, and I try to give it to you. But instead you had to go pull this stunt, and now everybody's going to know, and I'm not ready for that, I've told you a thousand times. What do I get for listening to your needs and going along with them? I have it thrown back in my face like I don't matter at all."

Harry stood in a shocked silence. "I didn't know," he said eventually. "How could you expect me to act accordingly when you hadn't told me?"

"That's the whole point of a gift," Draco replied angrily. "That it's a surprise. If I thought you were going to pull a stunt like this, believe me, I would have said something."

Taking a huge risk and preparing himself for any physical or magical damage, Harry walked over to Draco and wrapped his arms around him. Draco stiffened, but didn't push him away.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, pressing his cheek against Draco's back, their height difference making a more intimate act impossible. "Really, Dray. Truly sorry."

Draco let out a long sigh and turned around, still in Harry's arms. He pulled them together in a proper hug and kissed the top of his head. "I know," he said. "I know you were trying to do what you thought was right, you always do. And I should've guessed you'd do something stupid and reckless, you always do that, too. But really, Harry, right in front of the Ministry? Did it have to be there?"

Harry considered telling him that if he hadn't run away it would've been in the café, but he didn't think now was the time to split hairs. "I wasn't thinking," he repeated. "I'm sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?"

Draco caught his eyes and held them. "Come to the Manor with me, right now. Tell my parents in person, so they don't see it in the papers before they hear it from us. Think up an excuse for Kingsley as to why our lunch hour lasted the whole afternoon. Stay late and make up the work we missed, mine as well as yours. And never, _ever_, betray me like that again."

"Of course not," Harry said, kissing him properly, in the quiet and peace of his own bedroom. "And I'll do the rest of those things. Let me owl Kingsley and then we'll go, okay?"

"Yeah," Draco said, and Harry saw he was paler than usual. "What're you going to tell him?"

"We heard there was somebody named Koppelbard was smuggling illegal potions ingredients," Harry said with a smile. "And we wanted to investigate right away."

Draco managed a small smile. "Right. Y'know, that'll probably hit the presses before us. What if there is somebody in London named Koppelbard? What if he's a Muggle? What then, my precious Gryffindor, will you do when caught in a lie?"

"Obliviate the entire city," Harry said easily. He finished penning the letter, called his owl to him, and sent it off to the Ministry. "Alright then. Ready?"

Draco's eyes slipped closed for a moment, then met Harry's again. "Yes."

**4**

It wasn't quite as disastrous as Harry had thought. Mrs. Malfoy, in an entirely uncharacteristic display of affection, pulled both boys into a hug and said she was glad they had finally told her. Draco gaped and asked how long she'd known, and she had just laughed.

Mr. Malfoy was another story. He didn't curse them, no. He didn't welcome them with open arms, either. He questioned them at length. How was Draco planning on producing an heir if he was in a relationship with a man? How did he think _he'd_ feel about the fact that his son was seeing the boy who had brought about his fall? It was embarrassing enough Draco was an Auror, now he had to be dating the Golden Boy? Did Draco plan on moving out? Harry was more surprised than Mr. Malfoy when Draco said yes, and in fact he'd be moving into Grimmauld Place this very weekend. Friday, in fact, after work. He reminded his father that Grimmauld Place was in the family, so he would be upholding his name.

Then his questions turned to Harry. Was he treating his son right? Did he plan on taking care of him? What were his intentions; were they just fooling around, or was it serious? When Harry told him they had been dating for almost a year, he could have sworn Mr. Malfoy nearly had a heart attack. Then he was asked if he intended on marriage. Harry was completely blindsided by this, and Draco chastised his father for asking such a thing.

They were invited to stay for dinner, and agreed quickly. Not only would it have been rude to decline any dinner invitation, this particular gesture of goodwill demanded an immediate yes. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but at least Mr. Malfoy kept his questioning to a minimum, and Mrs. Malfoy's social upbringing kicked in, filling any awkward silences with cheerful conversation, regardless of whether anyone replied to her or not.

By the time they apparated back to Grimmauld place, they were both exhausted. They collapsed on Harry's bed. Harry wasn't sure if Draco was still mad at him or not and kept his distance. After a few moments Draco rolled over to face him, and Harry echoed his action.

"Do you plan on marrying me?" he asked. "We haven't talked about it before, and believe me, I was just as caught off guard as you when Father asked, but it will be one year in a few days and, well, maybe we should start to think about the possibility?"

Harry flushed. "I've been thinking about the possibility, as you put it, for quite some time." Draco's face remained impassive, and Harry hated him for it. Why must he be so hard to read when he himself was such an open book? It wasn't fair. A close examination revealed Draco was, most likely, lost in thought. Or perhaps constipated. Harry could never tell those looks apart, and their dinner had been quite heavy. Eventually, Harry asked, "Have you?"

"It has crossed my mind," Draco said carefully. "From time to time. Especially when you're asleep and wrapped around me, when you look so innocent and so happy, like you lived a normal life and never had to fight Voldemort."

Harry stared at him. "I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

Draco smiled. "I kind of owe it to you, after blowing up at you."

"No, I deserved that," Harry said. "I should probably owl Hermione and tell her we're both still alive and together."

"Not now," Draco said quickly. "Don't get out of bed."

"I won't," Harry replied. He paused for a moment. "Our bed?" he asked. "Seeing as you're moving in Friday?"

Draco flushed. "Er, well, that sort of just slipped out. Father kept going at you again and again and I just wanted him to know how serious you were."

"I'm not complaining," Harry said. "Though I'm not sure if we have time for work, dinner and moving you in. We might have to wait until Saturday."

"I suppose," Draco sighed. He cupped Harry's cheek, and Harry leaned into his touch. "I really love you. You know that, right?"

"If I ever had any doubts, you certainly dispelled them today," Harry said with a smile. "Actually…"

Draco frowned. "Actually what?"

Harry flushed this time. "Well, that's sort of why I wanted to tell people. Because if you really love me, then it doesn't matter who knows. It kind of felt like you were hiding me away, like I was back in a cupboard, and—"

"Never," Draco interrupted. "That's not at all why I was holding out. I seriously thought my father might disown me, and while I would do anything for you, I wanted as much time with him as I could have before the inevitable divide."

"But there was no divide," Harry said.

"No, there wasn't." Draco smiled faintly. "He's not pleased, though. I don't know if he'll ever be pleased. I've spent my whole life vying for his approval, and any chance of that flew out the window."

"You never know," Harry said, straining for optimism. "He could come around."

Draco shrugged half-heartedly. "We'll see."

Harry knew he was treading into dangerous waters, especially given what Draco had just said, but he hadn't gotten a proper answer, and suddenly it felt very, very important. "Dray, about getting married—"

Draco silenced him with a kiss. "Don't ask just yet," he said. "I'm not stringing you along, or insisting on a deadline that's never going to come. But please, you'll be happier if you wait."

Harry's stomach fluttered. He had an idea of what Draco was getting at, a very persuasive idea, and he thought it a very, very good one. "You definitely won't be moving in Friday, then."

"Perhaps not," Draco said. "Now stop asking questions and get out of those damned robes. After what you did to me, I deserve mind-blowing sex."

Harry grinned. "Always."

**5**

That Friday was the longest day Harry could remember, and that included both Tuesday and Wednesday, when he had been forced to stay until midnight to finish the work he and Draco hadn't gotten to on Monday. The seconds ticked by like a Streeler. He even started to feel sick as the day progressed, as if he had accidentally ingested some of their ooze. It wasn't a bad sick, per se, but he felt like he was going to throw up and he couldn't think straight. Several times he had to completely rewrite reports using actual words and real sentences.

Six o'clock came very suddenly, given the slowness of the day. All of the sudden Draco was standing and stretching, spelling the door closed so he could change into dress robes. Harry hadn't thought to bring his with him and he was about to say so when Draco handed them to him.

"We've been together for a year, Harry," Draco said with a smile at his expression. "I know well enough by now not to expect great things from you, at least in the planning department. Now get dressed, our reservations are for six-fifteen."

They apparated in front of what appeared to be a wall of hedges. Draco took out his wand and tapped a complicated pattern on the leaves, which formed into a face.

"Names?" it asked in a shrill, difficult voice.

"Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter," Draco said. "Reservations for six-fifteen."

"Reservations?" it asked.

Draco sighed. "Two for six-fifteen."

"Your appearance is expected," it said. "Proceed."

"Bloody stupid hedge, can't even tell what I'm saying," Draco muttered as it parted to let them pass.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, subconsciously smoothing his hair.

"A place I've been saving for a special occasion," Draco replied. "The absolute finest, most exclusive restaurant in London. Father took Mother and I here when he was released from Azkaban. We've been on the books for the past six months, which was pushing it."

"Right," Harry said. He had gotten used to Draco's lifestyle, but he hadn't lost the capacity to be surprised.

They were greeted outside, and brought to a table tucked into a small alcove. A ball of light hovered above them, keeping the lighting romantically dim. Harry took quite a bit of time deciding what to order, finally making a decision based solely on what he happened to be reading when Draco gave him that look, the one that meant hurry the fuck up. Draco ordered them a bottle of champagne and poured them each a glass. Harry checked the bottom of his to see if there was a ring; he had no idea where that tradition had come from, or if wizards even knew about it, but he had been worrying all week about accidentally swallowing it. The glass contained nothing but champagne. He was relieved and disappointed at the same time.

Draco held his hand while they waited for food to come, and his gaze never once left Harry. Such treatment was usually reserved for conversations more important than idle chitchat, but Harry wasn't complaining. Draco could make him feel like he was the only person in the room, like he was the only person in the _universe_ when he wanted to, and it was one of Harry's favorite feelings.

"I love you," he blurted out, interrupting Draco, who had been going on about Quidditch Cup seats.

Draco smiled softly. "I love you too, darling. But really, this is important. My father will expect us to sit with him, but we can hardly turn down an invitation from the Minister of Magic. Our reputation is on the line."

"I don't care," Harry said. "I love you."

Draco laughed. Even now, laughter was rare, and Harry was filled with a sense of accomplishment. "You could have just asked me to stop talking politics, you know."

"Talk about whatever you want," Harry replied. "It's our one year anniversary, and I love you."

Draco lifted his hand and kissed it. "I love you too." He kissed his hand again, tongue flicking out for half a second before he returned their hands to the table. "Are you done, or should I wait in silence while you declare your love over and over again?"

"You are ridiculous and take everything for granted," Harry stated. "But yes, I'm done. Go on."

"It's just that after what we put Father through on Monday, I hardly think removing myself from the family box is wise," Draco said. "You're family, you should sit with us. But the Minister…"

Their food came, and Draco's monologue was cut off. Harry had to hand it to him, this was the best meal he'd ever had, marred only slightly by rushing to finish, rushing to what he was certain was coming after they ate. He was almost upset about ordering dessert, though once it arrived the chocolate cake dispelled any doubts, and slowed him considerably as he savored each bite. It was a little hard to savor when his stomach was filled with butterflies and his heart was about to leap out of his chest, but he did.

He felt like he was going to explode when he set his fork down on the empty plate. Draco had finished his crème brulee several minutes ago, and had merely watched Harry finish with a smile. Harry was shaking, completely on edge, wondering when it was going to happen, and what if he had misunderstood and it wasn't going to happen at all, and maybe he had gotten himself worked up over nothing.

The check came, and Draco paid. He took Harry's arm and they left, Harry's stomach sinking. He had misunderstood. That was okay, he told himself. It was still their one year anniversary. There was no reason to be disappointed, none at all. Dinner had been fantastic and romantic and wonderful, and now they were walking along the Thames, arms linked. The night was remarkably clear, and even with the bright city lights, starlight shined down, reflecting off the water. The moon was nearly full, and was like a spotlight on the river.

"You're awfully quiet," Draco remarked.

"Am I?" Harry asked guiltily. "Sorry. I'm just really full, and really happy to be here, with you. I guess I'm just distracted. What did you want to talk about?"

"Nothing in particular," Draco said. "Just making sure nothing's wrong."

"Why would anything be wrong?" Harry asked, stomach knotting. "Everything is perfect."

"Are you sure?" Draco stopped walking, taking both of Harry's hands in his. "This is perfect?"

The knot untied itself and was replaced with butterflies. Maybe he hadn't been wrong at all. Maybe it was about to happen, right now. Maybe—more than maybe, really—he ought to answer Draco this very second, before the moment passed. "Yes," Harry said firmly. "Absolutely."

Draco let one of his hands go and reached into his pocket. Harry's heart leapt. Draco dropped his gaze and fiddled with what Harry was sure was a small, velvet box. Harry's thoughts were racing and he was getting nervous again because if Draco wanted this wouldn't he have asked by now, wouldn't the box be in Harry's hands rather than Draco's pocket? Did he feel pushed into it by Harry and his father? Was he only doing this to please them?

"Dray," Harry said, choking a bit on his name. "If you don't want—I mean, don't feel pressured. If you don't want this, I don't want you to ask. It's about us, both of us. Not just me, not your father. It's—"

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "My father?" he interrupted. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Harry flushed, deep and dark. Was he completely wrong? Was Draco just giving him an anniversary gift? Was there no small, velvet box? "I—I meant—" he stammered. "Never mind. I'm sorry. Forget it."

"All this going on about asking," Draco contemplated. "You're expecting something, aren't you?"

"No, of course not," Harry said quickly. "I wasn't—I mean, I'm not, I just—this moment, us, the dinner, the river, the stars, it's all perfect. Forget I said anything, please. Go back to the perfect."

"No," Draco said, and Harry thought he might have heard a teasing note in his voice, though he could have just been hoping. "This thing you're expecting, is it a good thing, a perfect thing?"

Harry didn't know how to answer. Yes, of course it was good, of course it was perfect. But if Draco hadn't been planning on it, or was having second thoughts, he didn't want to push him or make him feel like he had to do something he didn't want to. "Er, well, it could be," Harry replied. "I mean, if it would be perfect for you, then it would be perfect for me."

"And this thing, this expectation," Draco said slowly. He was looking at Harry now, and there was something wonderful about his eyes, how they outshined the stars and the moon and the streetlights, how they were looking at him and only him, and they were the only two people in the world. "You're certain you want to be expecting it? You're not expecting it to please me, or out of some stupid sense of obligation? It's your expectation?"

"Yes," Harry said immediately. "Yes, absolutely yes." He paused. "But only if you want to, and you're not doing any of those things, and—"

Suddenly Draco removed his hand from his pocket and yes, there it was, the small velvet box. "Harry," he said softly, cutting him off. "Harry, I—I'm not sure how to—do you want me on one knee, or holding your hands? Should I open the box or do you? I don't know—"

"Yes," Harry said again. "Yes, yes, yes. Always and forever yes."

Draco frowned at him. "I _know_ that's not right," he said. "You're not supposed to answer until I ask."

"Then ask," Harry said. "And hurry up."

Draco's frown deepened. "Don't tell me to hurry up," he snapped. "This is my question, not your expectations, and I'll do it how I see fit."

"Then why ask me how to do it?" Harry asked. "If you've got a plan, got your question all worked out, why ask?"

"Because I want it to be perfect!" Draco said, raising his voice. "Merlin, Harry, it's supposed to be perfect, and instead we're fighting. Can't you just shut up for one bloody second so I can do this?"

"You shouldn't have asked me!" Harry said again. "Whatever you do will be perfect, you don't need to ask, just—I mean, you have to _ask_, but don't ask how."

Draco closed his eyes for a moment. "Okay. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"I'm sorry I rushed you," Harry replied, though he was on edge, though his heart was pounding and his stomach was about to explode, though he thought he couldn't stand another minute of Draco not asking.

"It's okay," Draco said. He bit his lip and, with all the grace he possessed, knelt on one knee. He was blushing furiously as he opened the box. "Harry James Potter, will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

Harry sunk to his knees and pulled Draco into a tight hug. "Yes," he whispered. "A thousand times yes."

Draco pushed him away, took the ring out of the box and slipped it onto Harry's finger. The ring expanded to fit him perfectly. "It's my great grandmother's," he said. "A bit out of fashion, but—"

"Oh, shut up, you know I don't care about that bollocks," Harry said, silencing him with a kiss. "I want you," he continued, breaking away. "I want you and your family and your traditions, I want to marry you, and I want this ring."

"I was going to propose tonight anyway," Draco said. "Before you told Granger, I mean. Or she figured it out, whatever. Before we told my parents. I decided the day before your birthday. I thought about asking then, but I didn't have the ring, and I didn't know what to say, and I didn't know what _you_ were going to say, and besides, there was that party, and everyone was there, and—"

"Shh," Harry interrupted. "It's okay. I'm glad you waited. This is perfect. Even with the fight. _Especially_ with the fight. We always fight. Now kiss me, would you? You're my fiancée, you're supposed to kiss me."

Draco smiled, a full, brilliant smile. "I am your fiancée," he said. "And I get to kiss you whenever I want for the rest of my life."

"Then kiss me now."

He did.

**The end.**

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